Willy had his own little bag packed--indeed it had been packed for
three whole days--and now he stood gripping it tightly in one hand,
and a small yellow cane which was the pride of his heart in the other.
Willy had a little harmless, childish dandyism about him which his
mother rather encouraged. "I'd rather he'd be this way than the
other," she said when people were inclined to smile at his little
fussy habits. "It won't hurt him any to be nice and particular, if he
doesn't get conceited."
Willy looked very dainty and sweet and gentle as he stood in the door
this morning. His straight fair hair was brushed very smooth, his
white straw hat with its blue ribbon was set on exactly, there was not
a speck on his best blue suit.
"Willy looks as if he had just come out of the band-box," Grandma had
said. But she did not have time to admire him long; she was not nearly
ready herself. Grandma was always in a hurry at the last moment. Now
she had to pack her big valise, brush Grandpa's hair, put on his
"dicky" and cravat, and adjust her own bonnet and shawl.
Willy was privately afraid she would not be ready when the village
coach came, and so they would miss the train, but he said nothing.
He stood patiently in the door and looked down the street whence the
coach would come, and listened to the bustle in Grandma's room. There
was not an impatient line in his face although he had really a good
deal at stake. He was going to Exeter with his Grandpa and Grandma, to
visit his aunt Annie, and his new uncle Frank. Grandpa and Grandma had
come from Maine to visit their daughter Ellen who was Willy's mother,
and now they were going to see Annie. When Willy found out that he was
going too, he was delighted. He had always been very fond of his aunt
Annie, and had not seen her for a long time. He had never seen his new
uncle Frank who had been married to Annie six months before, and he
looked forward to that. Uncles and aunts seemed a very desirable
acquisition to this little Willy, who had always been a great pet
among his relatives.
"He won't make you a bit of trouble, if you don't mind taking him. He
never teases nor frets, and he won't be homesick," his mother had told
his grandmother.
"I know all about that," Grandma Stockton had replied. "I'd just as
soon take him as a doll-baby."
[Illustration: WATCHING FOR THE COACH.]
Willy Norton really was a very sweet boy. He proved it this morning
by standing there so patiently and never singing out, "Ain't you most
ready, Grandma?" although it did seem to him she never would be.
His mother was helping her pack too; he could hear them talking. "I
guess I sha'n't put in father's best coat," Grandma Stockton remarked,
among other things. "He won't be in Exeter over Sunday, and won't want
it to go to meetin', and it musses it up so to put it in a valise."
"Well, I don't know as I would as long as you're coming back here,"
said his mother.
After a while she remarked further, "If father should want that coat,
you can send for it, and I can put in Willy's other shoes with it."
Willy noticed that, because he himself had rather regretted not taking
his other shoes. He had only his best ones, and he thought he might
want to go berrying in Exeter and would spoil them tramping through
the bushes and briers, and he did not like to wear shabby shoes.
"Well, I can; but I guess he won't want it," said Grandma.
At last the coach came in sight, and Grandma was all ready excepting
her bonnet and gloves, and Grandpa had only to brush his hat very
carefully and put it on; so they did not miss the train.
Willy's mother hugged him tight and kissed him. There were tears in
her eyes. This was the first time he had ever been away from home
without her. "Be a good boy," said she.
"There isn't any need of tellin' him that," chuckled Grandpa, getting
into the coach. He thought Willy was the most wonderful child in the
world.
It was quite a long ride to Exeter. They did not get there until
tea-time, but that made it seem all the pleasanter. Willy never forgot
how peaceful and beautiful that little, elm-shaded village looked with
the red light of the setting sun over it. There was aunt Annie, too,
in the prettiest blue-sprigged, white cambric, standing in her door
watching for them; and she was so surprised and delighted to see
Willy, and they had tea right away, and there were berries and cream,
and cream-tartar biscuits and frosted cake.
Uncle Frank, Willy thought, was going to be the nicest uncle he had.
There was something about the tall, curly-headed, pleasant-eyed young
man which won his boyish heart at once.
"Glad to see you, sir," uncle Frank said in his loud, merry voice;
then he gave Willy's little slim hand a big shake, as if it were a
man's.
He was further prepossessed in his favor when, after tea, he begged to
take him over to the store and show him around before he went to
bed. Grandma had suggested his going directly to bed, as he must
be fatigued with the journey, but uncle Frank pleaded for fifteen
minutes' grace, so Willy went to view the store.
It was almost directly opposite uncle Frank's house, and uncle Frank
and his father kept it. It was in a large old building, half of which
was a dwelling-house where uncle Frank's parents lived, and where he
had lived himself before he was married. The store was a large country
one, and there was a post-office and an express office connected with
it. Uncle Frank and his father were store-keepers and postmasters and
express-agents.
The jolly new uncle gave Willy some sticks of peppermint and
winter-green candy out of the glass jars, in the store-window, and
showed him all around. He introduced him to his father, and took him
into the house to see his mother. They made much of him, as strangers
always did.
"They said I must call them Grandpa and Grandma Perry," he told his
own grandmother when he got home.
He told her, furthermore, privately, when she came upstairs after he
was in bed to see if everything was all right, that he thought Annie
had shown very good taste in marrying uncle Frank. She told of it,
downstairs, and there was a great laugh. "I don't know when I have
taken such a fancy to a boy," uncle Frank said warmly. "He is so good,
and yet he's smart enough, too."
"Everybody takes to him," his grandmother said proudly.
In a day or two Willy wrote a letter to his mother, and told her he
was having the best time that he ever had in his life.
Willy was only seven years old and had never written many letters, but
this was a very good one. His mother away down in Ashbury thought so.
She shed a few tears over it. "It does seem as if I couldn't get along
another day without seeing him," she told Willy's father; "but I'm
glad if it is doing the dear child good, and he is enjoying it."
One reason why Willy had been taken upon the trip was his health. He
had always been considered rather delicate. It did seem as if he had
every chance to grow stronger in Exeter. The air was cool and bracing
from the mountains; aunt Annie had the best things in the world to
eat, and as he had said, he was really having a splendid time. He
rode about with uncle Frank in the grocery wagon, he tended store,
he fished, and went berrying. There were only two drawbacks to his
perfect comfort. One came from his shoes. Grandpa Perry had found an
old pair in the store, and he wore them on his fishing and berrying
jaunts; but they were much too large and they slipped and hurt his
heels. However he said nothing; he stumped along in them manfully, and
tried to ignore such a minor grievance. Willy had really a stanch vein
in him, in spite of his gentleness and mildness. The other drawback
lay in the fact that the visit was to be of such short duration. It
began Monday and was expected to end Saturday. Willy counted the
hours; every night before he went to sleep he heaved a regretful sigh
over the day which had just gone. It had been decided before leaving
home that they were to return on Saturday, and he had had no
intimation of any change of plan.
Friday morning he awoke with the thought, "this is the last day."
However, Willy was a child, and, in the morning, a day still looked
interminable to him, especially when there were good times looming up
in it. To-day he expected to take a very long ride with uncle Frank,
who was going to Keene to buy a new horse.
"I want Willy to go with me, to help pick him out," he told Grandma
Stockton, and Willy took it in serious earnest. They were going to
carry lunch and be gone all day. This promised pleasure looked so big
to the boy, as he became wider awake, that he could see nothing at all
beyond it, not even the sad departure and end of this delightful visit
on the morrow. So he went down to breakfast as happy as ever.
"That boy certainly looks better," Grandpa Stockton remarked, as the
coffee was being poured.
"We must have him weighed before he goes home," Grandma said, beaming
at him.
"That's one thing I thought of, 'bout stayin' a week longer," Grandpa
went on. "It seems to be doin' Sonny, here, so much good." Grandpa had
a very slow, deliberate way of speaking.
Willy laid down his spoon and stared at him, but he said nothing.
"I don't see what you were thinking of not to plan to stay longer in
the first place," said aunt Annie. "I don't like it much." She made
believe to pout her pretty lips.
"Well," said uncle Frank, "I'll send for that coat right away this
morning, so you'll be sure to get it to-morrow night."
"Yes," said Grandpa, "I'd like to hev it to wear to meetin'. Mother
thinks my old one ain't just fit."
"No, it ain't," spoke up Grandma. "It does well enough when you're at
home, where folks know you, but it's different among strangers. An'
you've got to have it next week, anyhow."
Willy looked up at his grandmother. "Grandma," said he tremblingly,
"ain't we going home to-morrow?"
"Why, bless the child!" said she. "I forgot he didn't know. We talked
about it last night after he'd gone to bed."
Then she explained. They were going to stay another week. Next week
Wednesday, Grandpa and Grandma Perry had been married twenty-five
years, and they were going to have a silver wedding. So they were
going to remain and be present at it, and Grandpa was going to send
for his best coat to wear.
Willy looked so radiant that they all laughed, and uncle Frank said he
was going to keep him always, and let him help him in the store.
Before they started off to buy the horse, uncle Frank telegraphed to
Ashbury about the coat; he also mentioned Willy's shoes.
The two had a beautiful ride, and bought a handsome black horse. Uncle
Frank consulted Willy a great deal about the purchase, and expatiated
on his good judgment in the matter after they got home. One of Willy's
chief charms was that he stood so much flattery of this kind, without
being disagreeably elated by it. His frank, childish delight was
always pretty to see.
The next afternoon he went berrying with a little boy who lived next
door. At five o'clock aunt Annie ran over to the store to see if the
coat had come.
"It has," she told her mother when she returned; "it came at one
o'clock, and Mother Perry gave it to Willy to bring home."
"To Willy? Why, what did the child do with it?" Grandma said
wonderingly. "He didn't bring it home."
"Maybe he carried it over to Josie Allen's and left it there." Josie
Allen was the boy with whom Willy had gone berrying. His house stood
very near uncle Frank's, and both were nearly across the road from the
store.
"Well, maybe he did, he was in such a hurry to go berrying," said
Grandma assentingly.
About six o'clock, when the family were all at the tea-table, Willy
came clumping painfully in his big shoes into the yard. There were
blisters on his small, delicate heels, but nobody knew it. His little
fair face was red and tired, but radiant. His pail was heaped and
rounded up with the most magnificent berries of the season.
"Just look here," said he, with his sweet voice all quivering with
delight.
He stood outside on the piazza, and lifted the pail on to the
window-sill. He could not wait until he came in to show these berries.
He would have to walk way around through the kitchen in those
irritating shoes.
They all exclaimed and admired them as much as he could wish, then
Grandma said suddenly: "But what did you do with the coat, Willy?"
"The coat?" repeated Willy in a bewildered way.
"Yes; the coat. Did you take it over to Josie's an' leave it? If you
did, you must go right back and get it. Did you?"
"No."
"Why, what did you do with it?"
"I didn't do anything with it."
"William Dexter Norton! what do you mean?"
[Illustration: "JUST LOOK HERE!" SAID WILLY'S SWEET VOICE.]
Everybody had stopped eating, and was staring out at Willy, who was
staring in. His happy little red face had suddenly turned sober.
"Come in, Sonny, an' we'll see what all the trouble's about, an'
straighten it out in a jiffy," spoke up Grandpa. The contrast between
Grandpa's slow tones and the "jiffy" was very funny.
Willy crept slowly down the long piazza, through the big kitchen into
the dining-room.
"Now, Sonny, come right here," said his grandfather, "an' we'll have
it all fixed up nice."
The boy kept looking from one face to another in a wondering
frightened way. He went hesitatingly up to his grandfather, and stood
still, his poor little smarting feet toeing in, after a fashion they
had, when tired, the pail full of berries dangling heavily on his
slight arm.
"Now, Sonny, look up here, an' tell us all about it. What did you do
with Grandpa's coat, boy?"
"I--didn't do anything with it."
"William," began his grandmother, but Grandpa interrupted her. "Just
wait a minute, mother," said he. "Sonny an' I air goin' to settle
this. Now, Sonny, don't you get scared. You jest think a minute.
Think real hard, don't hurry--now, can't you tell what you did with
Grandpa's coat?"
"I--didn't--do anything with it," said Willy.
"My sakes!" said his grandmother. "What has come to the child?" She
was very pale. Aunt Annie and uncle Frank looked as if they did not
know what to think. Grandpa himself settled back in his chair, and
stared helplessly at Willy.
Finally aunt Annie tried her hand. "See here, Willy dear," said she,
"you are tired and hungry and want your supper; just tell us what you
did with the coat after Grandma Perry gave it to you"--
"She didn't," said Willy.
That was dreadful. They all looked aghast at one another. Was Willy
lying--Willy!
"Didn't--give--it--to you--Sonny!" said Grandpa, feebly, and more
slowly than ever.
"No, sir."
Grandma Stockton had been called quick-tempered when she was a girl,
and she gave proof of it sometimes, even now in her gentle old age.
She spoke very sternly and quickly: "Willy, we have had all of this
nonsense that we want. Now you just speak right up an' tell the truth.
What did you do with your grandfather's coat?"
"I didn't do anything with it," faltered Willy again. His lip was
quivering.
"What?"
"I--didn't"--began the child again, then his sobs checked him. He
crooked his little free arm, hid his face in the welcome curve, and
cried in good earnest.
"Stop crying and tell me the truth," said Grandma pitilessly.
Willy again gasped out his one reply; he shook so that he could
scarcely hold his berry pail. Aunt Annie took it out of his hand and
set it on the table. Uncle Frank rose with a jerk. "I'll run over and
get mother," said he, with an air that implied, "I'll soon settle this
matter."
But the matter was very far from settled by Mrs. Perry's testimony.
She only repeated what she had already told her daughter-in-law.
"The bundle came on the noon express," said she, "and I told Mr. Perry
to set it down in the kitchen, and I would see that it got over to
you. He didn't know how to stop just then. It laid there on one of the
kitchen-chairs while I was clearing away the dinner-dishes. Then about
two o'clock I was changing my dress, when I heard Willy whistling out
in the yard, and I ran into the kitchen and got the bundle, and called
him to take it. I opened the south door and gave it to him, and told
him to take it right home to his grandpa. He said he guessed he'd open
it and see if his shoes had come, and I told him 'no,' he must go
straight home with it."
That was Mrs. Perry's testimony. Willy heard in the presence of all
the family; then when the question as to the whereabouts of the coat
was put to him, he made the same answer. He also repeated that Grandma
Perry had not given it to him.
"Don't you let me hear you tell that wicked lie again," said his
Grandma Stockton. She was nearly as much agitated as the boy. She did
not know what to do, and nobody else did.
Grandpa Perry came over with three sticks of twisted red and white
peppermint candy, and three of barley. He caught hold of Willy and
swung him on to his knee. He was a fleshy, jolly man.
"Now, sir," said he, "let's strike a bargain--I'll give you these six
whole sticks of candy for your supper, and you tell me what you did
with Grandpa's coat."
"I--didn't do--any"--Willy commenced between his painful sobs, but his
grandmother interrupted--"Hush! don't you ever say that again," said
she. "You did do something with it."
"I'll throw in a handful of raisins," said Mr. Perry. But it was of no
use.
"Well, if the little chap was mine," said Mrs. Perry finally, "I
should give him his supper and put him to bed, and see how he would
look at it in the morning."
"I think that would be the best way," chimed in aunt Annie eagerly.
"He's all tired out and hungry, and doesn't know what he does know--do
you, dear?"
So she poured out some milk, and cut off a big slice of cake, but
Willy did not want any supper. It was hard work to induce him to
swallow a little milk before he went upstairs. His grandmother heaved
a desperate sigh after he was gone.
"If it was in the days of the Salem witches," said she, "I'd know just
what to think; as 'tis, I don't."
"That boy was never known to tell a lie before in his whole life--his
mother said so. He never pestered her the way some children do, lyin';
an' as for stealin'--why, I'd trusted him with every cent I've got in
the world." That was Grandpa Stockton.
During the next two or three days every inducement was brought to bear
upon Willy. He was scolded and coaxed, he was promised a reward if he
would tell the truth, he was assured that he should not be punished.
Monday he was kept in his room all day, and was given nothing but
bread and milk to eat. Severer measures were hinted at, but Grandpa
Stockton put his foot down peremptorily. "That boy has never been
whipped in his whole life," said he, "an' his own folks have got to
begin it, if anybody does."
All the premises were searched for the missing coat, but no trace of
it was found. The mystery thickened and deepened. How could a boy lose
a coat going across a road in broad daylight? Why would he not confess
that he had lost it?
Finally it was decided to take him home. He was becoming all worn out
with excitement and distress. He was too delicate a child to long
endure such a strain. They thought that once at home his mother might
be able to do what none of the rest had.
All the others were getting worn out also. A good many tears had been
shed by the older members of the company. Poor Mrs. Perry took much
blame to herself for giving the coat to the boy, and so opening the
way for the difficulty.
"Mr. Perry says he thinks I ought not to have given the coat to him,
he's nothing but a child, any way," she said tearfully once.
It was Monday afternoon when Willy was shut up in his room, and all
the others were talking the matter over downstairs.
Tears stood in aunt Annie's blue eyes. "He's nothing but a baby,"
said she, "and if I had my way I'd call him downstairs and give him a
cookie and never speak of the old coat again."
"You talk very silly, Annie," said Grandmother Stockton. "I hope you
don't want to have the child to grow up a wicked, deceitful man."
Willy's grandparents gave up going to the silver wedding. Grandpa had
no good coat to wear, and indeed neither of them had any heart to go.
So the morning of the wedding-day they started sadly to return to
Ashbury. Willy's face looked thin and tear-stained. Somebody had
packed his little bag for him, but he forgot his little cane.
When he was seated in the cars beside his grandmother, he began to
cry. She looked at him a moment, then she put her arm around him, and
drew his head down on her black cashmere shoulder.
"Tell Grandma, can't you," she whispered, "what you did with
Grandpa's coat?"
"I didn't--do--any"--
"Hush," said she, "don't you say that again, Willy!" But she kept her
arm around him.
Willy's mother came running to the door to meet them when they
arrived. She had heard nothing of the trouble. She had only had a
hurried message that they were coming to-day.
She threw her arms around Willy, then she held him back and looked at
him. "Why, what is the matter with my precious boy!" she cried.
"O, mamma, mamma, I didn't, I didn't do anything with it!" he sobbed,
and clung to her so frantically that she was alarmed.
"What does he mean, mother?" she asked.
Her mother motioned her to be quiet. "Oh! it isn't anything," said
she. "You'd better give him his supper, and get him to bed; he's all
tired out. I'll tell you by and by," she motioned with her lips.
So Willy's mother soothed him all she could. "Of course you didn't,
dear," said she. "Mamma knows you didn't. Don't you worry any more
about it."
It was early, but she got some supper for him, and put him to bed, and
sat beside him until he went to sleep. She told him over and over that
she knew he "didn't," in reply to his piteous assertions, and all the
time she had not the least idea what it was all about.
After he had fallen asleep she went downstairs, and Grandma Stockton
told her. Willy's father had come, and he also heard the story.
"There's some mistake about it," said he. "I'll make Willy tell me
about it, to-morrow. Nothing is going to make me believe that he is
persisting in a deliberate lie in this way."
Willy's mother was crying herself, now. "He never--told me a lie in
his whole dear little life," she sobbed, "and I don't believe he has
now. Nothing will ever--make me believe so."
"Don't cry, Ellen," said her husband. "There's something about this
that we don't understand."
It was all talked over and over that night, but they were no nearer
understanding the case.
"I'll see what I can do with Willy in the morning," his father said
again, when the discussion was ended for the night.
Willy was not awake at the breakfast hour next morning, so the family
sat down without him. They were not half through the meal when there
were some quick steps on the path outside; the door was jerked open,
and there was aunt Annie and uncle Frank.
She had Willy's little yellow cane in her hand, and she looked as if
she did not know whether to laugh or cry.
"It's found!" she cried out, "it's found! Oh! where is he? He left his
cane, poor little boy!"
Then she really sank into a chair and began to cry. There were
exclamations and questions and finally they arrived at the solution of
the mystery.
Poor little Willy had not done anything with Grandpa's coat. Mrs.
Perry had not given it to him. She had--given it to another boy.
"Last night about seven o'clock," said uncle Frank. "Mr. Gilbert
Hammond brought it into the store. It seems he sent his boy, who is
just about Willy's age, and really looks some like him, for a bundle
he expected to come by express. The boy was to have some shoes in it.
"I suppose mother caught a glimpse of him, and very likely she didn't
have on her glasses, and can't see very well without them, and she
thought he was Willy. She was changing her dress, too, and I dare
say only opened the door a little way. Then the Hammond boy's got a
grandfather, and the shoes and the whole thing hung together.
"Mr. Hammond said he meant to have brought the bundle back before, but
they had company come the next day, and it was overlooked.
"Father and mother both came running over the minute they heard of
it, and nothing would suit Annie but we should start right off on the
night train, and come down here and explain. And, to tell the truth,
I wanted to come myself--I felt as if we owed it to the poor little
chappie."
Uncle Frank's own voice sounded husky. The thought of all the
suffering that poor little innocent boy had borne was not a pleasant
one.
Everything that could be done to atone to Willy was done. He was loved
and praised and petted, as he had never been before; in a little while
he seemed as well and happy as ever.
The next Christmas Grandpa Perry sent a beautiful little gold watch to
him, and he was so delighted with it that his father said, "He doesn't
worry a bit now about the trouble he had in Exeter. That watch doesn't
seem to bring it to mind at all. How quickly children get over things.
He has forgotten all about it."
But Willy Norton had not forgotten all about it. He was just as happy
as ever. He had entirely forgiven Grandma Perry for her mistake. Next
summer he was going to Exeter again and have a beautiful time; but a
good many years would pass, and whenever he looked at that little gold
watch, he would see double. It would have for him a background of his
grandfather's best coat.
Innocence and truth can feel the shadow of unjust suspicion when
others can no longer see it.